The White Gryphon

because he had a suspicion that Shalaman didn’t need an interpreter.

“. . . and what I don’t understand is why no one has even begun to look for a suspect besides me!” he ranted, his voice coming close to a shriek on the last few words. People winced and tried to cover their ears. “What is wrong with you people? I mean, I know that magic’s gone bad, but surely with enough power behind a simple spell your mages could make it work! If your mages don’t know anything about using magic to find criminals, then mine do, and I’ll bring them here from White Gryphon if that’s what it takes!” He was in fine style now, pacing and lashing his tail, radiating enough anger to have sunburned anyone near him. “Are you deliberately obstructing the investigations? Have you even started them? I saw no signs of it!”

There was horrified scandal in the murmurs he heard, the faces he watched as he paced and ranted.

He was actually beginning to enjoy himself. Evidently this was something that was just Not Done in Haighlei society.

Well, murder is Not Done, and accusing someone falsely of murder is Not Done—and it’s about time someone woke them up to that fact.

Since the polite approach had produced no obvious cooperation on their part, perhaps violating all their social rules would!

Leyuet watched in horror as the huge white gryphon broke away from his escort and began to force his way through the courtiers—although it didn’t take long for the courtiers to notice what Skandranon was doing, and leap hastily out of the way. What did the creature think he was doing? Surely he wasn’t going to—

But Skandranon stopped short of the throne and began to pace back and forth, his voice raised to a shout, accusing the Haighlei of trying to blame him for the murders for the sake of convenience. Accusing the King of originating the plan!

The gryphon was angry, showing more anger than Leyuet had ever seen demonstrated in his life. His rage was a palpable thing, radiating from him in waves of passion as he paced and turned, never once ceasing in his accusations.

He is innocent. Leyuet was sure of that on all counts; such rage could not be the product of guilt, and that was nothing more than simple fact. Leyuet himself had ascertained the gryphon’s innocence a dozen times over, with far more than the simple facts to guide him.

So now what do we do? For the very first time since the strangers had arrived here, Skandranon was acting like a King, like the equal of any of the Haighlei Emperors, addressing Shalaman as an equal, demanding his rights, demanding action. This, along with their basic understanding of the gryphon’s position as the Kaled’a’in leader, only confirmed his real position in Leyuet’s eyes—and presumably in the eyes of every other Haighlei present.

And that only complicated the situation.

I will have to remove the guards, of course. A King simply could not be imprisoned or under guard—or held for ransom—or even questioned publicly!

“I swear to you, to you all, if you don’t do something, I will!” Skandranon shouted, his feathers standing on end with rage, his beak snapping off the words as if he would like very much to be closing it on someone’s arm. “I will find the murderer! I will bring him to justice!”

Leyuet’s dismay deepened, as he surreptitiously gestured to Skandranon’s guards to take themselves elsewhere. Now what were they going to do? Kings didn’t run about trying to solve a murder! They left that up to the Truthsayers and the Spears Of the Law!

Except that the Truthsayers and the Spears hadn’t been doing very well. The gryphon was right enough about that.

Whatever were they going to do?

The Emperor caught Leyuet’s eye and gave a slight nod in Skandranon’s direction. Leyuet cast his own eyes upward for a moment, then nodded back. Some called it magic, some felt that it bordered on the blasphemous powers of seeing into another’s mind, but the Truthsayers were trained by the priests to know, infallibly, whether or not someone was speaking the truth. And Leyuet had just told Shalaman without words that the white gryphon was doing just that. It was only a surface touch of the soul; Leyuet dared not go deeper, as he would with a human. He had no notion how his own soul would react to such an intimacy. But at the moment the surface touch was all that was needed.

The skin around Shalaman’s eyes twitched. That was all, but it was an unusual display of emotion from the Emperor.

We are in a tangle, and I see no way out of it. But I am not the King. Perhaps Shalaman—